


Sketches

by spockside



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: avengerkink, Friendship, Gen, Making art, Posing nude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockside/pseuds/spockside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the avenger_kinkmeme prompt: "Tony learned about Steve's artistic talents and asked/begged/pestered Steve into drawing the Avengers naked and finally he agreed. Natasha was okay with it since she was no stranger to nudity. Clint was okay with it as well. Bruce had spent a good amount of time naked because of his clothes being ripped off all the time. Thor consented since it was a team effort. No slash or sex. Really, just good old fashioned nude painting."</p><p>As frequently happens, this diverges slightly from the prompt. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketches

Pepper came into the meeting room early and found Steve with his feet up on a chair, notebook in hand, facing the window of the helicarrier that overlooked New York.

"I bet the view has changed a lot since your day," she said, taking a seat. He didn't look up but he smiled.

"Oh, yeah," he replied. "And I never saw it from this far out. I'm thinking of doing a series."

"Series?"

Steve held up the notebook to show her the pencil sketch he'd been tinkering with. "I used to mess around, drawing," he told her. "Now that I have a little time in between invasions, I thought I might take it up again."

"That is - really good," said Pepper, leaning over to examine the sketch more closely.

"I hear you know something about art."

"Something," she said absently. "Mostly modern art. Did you study anywhere?"

"Nope," Steve said. "I got books from the library, mostly."

"You know, you could probably take classes, if you're interested."

Steve was definitely interested.

*

"Thanks for offering to do this," Steve said.

"Sure," said Bruce. "I don't know why you'd want me as a model, but I figured, why not."

"I want to draw people as they are," Steve explained. "Real people, not perfect bodies."

Bruce snorted. "Well, that you got," he said.

He finished taking off his clothes and asked, "Where do you want me?"

"For now, just sit on the stool, with your hands on your knees. I'll move around if I need to."

*

"So is this for a grade?" asked Darcy over her shoulder.

"It's an independent project," Steve replied. "Kind of an extra credit thing."

"Good, because if it was just a ploy to see all of us naked I'd deck you. Well, I'd sock you, anyway." 

She grinned and he grinned back. When he'd asked around to see whether anyone was willing to pose for him, he'd gotten quite a variety of responses. Natasha, Bruce, and Pepper had simply given their consent; Clint had said he'd think about it. Thor was back in Asgard, where they didn't have voicemail, so Steve would have to get hold of him some other time. Darcy made him promise that her likeness would not appear on the internet in any way, shape, or form.

Tony had said he'd model nude if Steve would be nude while sketching him.

"If I wanted to see everybody naked, there's always the locker room," Steve said to Darcy. "Or the swimming pool."

"I bet swimsuits have gotten a lot more risque since your day," Darcy observed, but Steve shook his head, smirking.

"Have you ever looked at the pin-up girls from the forties?" he asked. "I've seen some examples in art books and they're all pretty modest. The guys in my unit, well, let's just say they knew where to get the good stuff."

"Really? How good?"

"Mostly topless. There were some who looked completely naked, but they never showed their privates," he said, blushing a little at the memory. "Lots of busts, though." Slyly he added, "You'd have made a perfect model for that kind of art."

"Yeah, my figure's sixty years out of date, great," Darcy pouted.

"There are those who still appreciate women with curves, Darcy," he said, and she blushed.

*

Steve sat cross-legged on the floor a foot or so away from the stool where Clint sat, shirtless, arms folded and ankles crossed, pants still on.

"Are you going to let me see it?" asked Clint. "When you're done?"

"This is just a study," Steve said. "You have good arms; I wanted to get those first. Here, put your hand on your knee, palm up, I need another angle."

"Aye aye, Captain," said Clint, following directions. 

Eventually Steve paused and said, "Okay, would you mind taking off your pants, please."

"Thought you'd never ask." Clint grinned and made short work of the garment in question.

"Great," Steve told him. "Put one foot up on the stool and your hands on your hips, please."

He moved around behind Clint and started drawing.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," he joked. "I have good legs, too?"

"Probably," said the artist. "I'm not doing those right now."

"Ooh, are you drawing my ass? I might need a few copies of that for general distribution."

"Actually, I'm getting your shoulders and upper torso," said Steve. "The view of your backside is just a perk."

For once, Clint couldn't think of anything to say but, "Thanks."

*

"Okay then, old man," said Tony as he started to disrobe. "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."

Steve rolled his eyes, a habit he'd picked up only after being a friend of Tony Stark, and put down his pad. He pulled off his t-shirt and jeans and folded them neatly, leaving them on the floor next to his chair, then peeled off his underwear and dropped it on top of the pile.

Taking up his pad again he turned to see Tony watching him with an odd look on his face.

"Where do you want me?" asked Tony.

"Just stand right there," said Steve, "and cross your arms over your chest. Across the arc."

Tony seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Steve filled in some details and then came to rest standing about six feet from his subject, in front of him.

"Go ahead and put your arms down at your sides," Steve said, then added, "I notice you always wear a shirt."

"It's the custom in most establishments," Tony began, but Steve shook his head.

"I mean even around us. Except in the lockers, and even then you only take it off to shower."

"Why, Steve, have you been checking me out?"

Steve, who knew he'd get this kind of flak, replied, "Doesn't everyone?" 

"I'm not crazy about the headlamp," Tony said, after some thought. He tapped the RT implant. "It's like a speed bump, a hiccup. A defect in an otherwise perfect finish."

Steve shrugged.

"I think it gives you balance, visually," he suggested. "It's symmetrical where the human body isn't. It offsets the softer lines."

"Soft - ? Should I be offended by that?"

*

The young god stood waiting, having shed his clothing and armor and taken several positions while Steve did some preliminary sketches. Steve stepped back to look at his subject from head to toe.

"You know what?" he said at last. "Let me get the cape."

*

"Relax," Steve kept telling Natasha. No matter what position she took, she looked like she was at attention or on alert.

"I am relaxed," she said. "This is me, relaxing. Ask anybody."

After a few standard poses, Steve still looked dissatisfied.

"Here," he said. "Sit on the floor with your legs out, like you're doing a stretch in ballet."

She gave him a look.

"No beaver shots, Rogers. Not even in pencil."

Steve blushed. Natasha got down on the floor, legs spread, back ramrod-straight, hands braced on the floor in front of her.

"Natasha, did you ever have a rag doll?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You want me to lie flat?"

"No...here, start at the top of your head." Steve sat cross-legged facing her. "Let go of your facial muscles."

She closed her eyes.

"Don't frown. Don't think so hard, just let go."

He guided her verbally through various muscles; when he was done Natasha was still sitting, but her arms lay limp on the floor alongside her legs, her back had slipped into an elegant curve, and her chin was on her chest, red hair hiding her face.

"Perfect," said Steve, softly. 

*

"I don't know why you want me for this," Pepper said, stepping out of her skirt. "I'm not an Avenger."

"If you don't know, I'm not explaining it to you," Steve replied. "Have a seat. Just put your hands in your lap. What did Tony have to say about you posing?"

"I don't know," she said haughtily. "It's none of his concern."

Steve suppressed a smirk; it was just the expression he wanted on her.

*

"So, what was your grade?" Darcy asked, parking herself in an armchair in the rec room.

"Who, me?" Steve asked. He was standing at the sink chugging water, having just finished a workout. "On what?"

"Your nude sketch project. Did you get an A? I bet you had the best variety of body types."

"I think I aced it," he said.

*

That night each of his subjects found a large flat envelope slipped under the door of their quarters. In each envelope was a single drawing, the result of Steve's studies, some with a bit of color added in pencil or pastel.

Pepper sat straight, hands folded in her lap, with her head tossed back, laughing, not the haughty queen but the merry maid.

Natasha was drawn from the back and slightly to the side, all long lines and curves, a butterfly at rest.

Tony's head was down, arms crossed, a hint of blue light emanating from beneath them, his face faintly lit and his eyes staring at the observer.

Bruce was drawn as The Thinker, textured like stone, comfortably static.

Clint was shown from the back, bare ass conspicuous below the slant of the quiver slung across his back.

Thor stood like a mighty statue, Mjolnir in one hand, the red cape at his feet, gazing fiercely upward.

Darcy's pose was classic pin-up girl, winking over her shoulder, the curve of a breast showing as she half-bent with her hands on her knees.

When she opened her envelope, a note fell out; in Steve's handwriting it said: "I like this one best."

She was still smiling at it when there was a knock on her door, and when she opened it she said, "Me too," and kissed the artist.


End file.
